To Keep Secrets
by Symmetrical
Summary: The room was dark, filled with memories of crying lovers, teammates, friends... although Daryan waited for a man who was nothing of the sort. /Angst-fic//Daryan-centric/


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

The room was dark, the fog of dread, terror and hate hanging thickly over Daryan as he sat down hesitantly, ignoring the myriad of stains that covered the chair. His foot tapped unconsciously on the old, grey floor. Wait, the guard had told him, walking out to retrieve the man who had called him here. Silence, just his quiet breathing rising into the air, one of the thousands of visitors who had waited patiently for a lover, a friend, a team-mate… although this man was nothing of the sort to Daryan.

He was certainly thinner than the last time he had adorned the headlines, Daryan thought as the man stepped from the door, his back straight and head held high, as if he were some cherished king greeting his country and not some convict, imprisoned in grey walls and metallic bars. His tan had faded slightly, his rings gone and his hair a mess. But Redd White still looked as proud as ever.

Daryan frowned, watching as Redd sat, not slouching his shoulders nor bowing his head slightly, as most who had spent a long stretch in prison did. It was even a surprise his sentence hadn't been carried out yet, but the piles of information Redd still held on certain parties had kept him alive thus far; it was obvious that wasn't going to change for a while. Daryan motioned for the guard to leave; he was a detective in the force, he'd be able to handle Redd if something happened. Thus the two were left alone, Daryan waiting for Redd to break the silence.

"Ah, Detective, how splendiferous to see that you could come today." Daryan found the man's tone of voice irritating, but knew that he couldn't just tell him to go back to his cell due to an annoying accent. Redd continued.

"I called you here on account of your foreign act's lovely manager." Such a confusing sentence to be said so easily, lips forming the words quickly, with no more explanation given.

"LeTouse? What's he got to do with you?" Daryan hated having to question people who made it seem like the answer was so excruciatingly obvious, and this was one of those times.

"Why, her splendid Interpol agent, of course." Daryan was more shocked than he let on, frowning slightly but regaining composure effortlessly – a detective was an idiot if he let his emotions shine through in an interrogation.

"Oh, you didn't know? Well well, what shoddy work you did on researching your new additions to your band." Redd's tone never seemed to differ from smug, but instead used varying degrees, sentences like these trying to crush Daryan with their weight, trying to force him to believe he was useless in the face of this man.

"Nevertheless, I believe he will concern you too, so I think it in your best interests you work with me." What would Interpol want with Daryan? Redd made it sound as if they knew, they knew about the plot between him and Machi. But they couldn't know. Redd couldn't know. This was all a bluff.

"So, Mister Detective, I have a proposal. You shoot this LeTouse fellow, and we're both fine. You see? It's a win-win situation for the both of us. And I will set it up to ensure that you don't get caught." Daryan clenched his fists unconsciously, his glare boring holes into the glass.

"I have no reason to murder anyone, let alone an Interpol agent who has nothing to do with me." He stood abruptly, the chair scraping along the floor with an ear-splitting sound. Turning to leave, he had to turn his head back to face Redd in shock at the next statement.

"I know about your little plot with Tobaye, Detective. The cocoon? Do you honestly think I'd call you here without knowing? My, you must have been dropped on your head when you were young."

"… and so what if you do?" His teeth were gritted.

"Then Mr. LeTouse is also coming after you, and not just me."

"And why would he be coming after you?"

"Because Interpol has been after me for quite a while. They want to know how much information I have on them, you see – and how much of that information should be confidential." Against his better judgement, Daryan sat back down. He wanted to know more.

"Why should I help you?"

"Because I also have evidence to another crime you committed. I believe you were 16…?" Daryan's palms slammed down against his legs, practically growling his response.

"They had no evidence I stole that fucking car!"

"No, but I do, Mister Detective."

"I don't believe you."

"Would you risk your career on belief, Detective? That would be preposterously foolish. Besides, you should know that I always have proof." Daryan fought back an urge to punch the glass, his anger rising quickly. He was not going to be thrown from the force because of some joyride he did when he was sixteen, damn it!

"So, Mister Detective, willing to work with me or not?"

Daryan didn't answer.

* * *

The gun fired, jarring Daryan's arm and missing its target as the shot drove into the wall. But LeTouse was getting ready to leap forward, and if he pinned Daryan, it would be all over. Ignoring the pain, Daryan fired again, agony taking control of his brain as LeTouse fell to the floor. He dropped the weapon and pulled out his phone, dialling the number quickly. Redd had manipulated some guards into getting a phone installed into his cell for the night, something unheard of in jail. No one dared speak out against it.

"… I shot him."

"How absolutely marvellous! I am so glad you decided to work with me, Mister Detective. As promised, you won't be found out." In the middle of Redd's rant, Daryan noticed LeTouse writing jerkily with his blood, some strange combination of letters and numbers – his Interpol number. Panicking, Daryan stamped on the stain, blurring it and ruling out the possibility that the suspect was blind. He would work that out later.

"So, Mister Detective, a congratulations go to you!"

"… don't ever call me again."

Daryan hung up.


End file.
